What to Do When it Seems the World is Falling Apart?

The world is in an interesting place and we are at the precipice of it.

Recently, I’ve been rolling ideas in my mind, trying to find a concrete balance between work and play, discipline and pleasure, spiritual devotion, and mundane order. Allow me to admit that I have not yet found my footing. Much of my childhood spent in a frantic fear of getting things wrong; of not knowing how to respond, when to make certain moves or perhaps how to begin to unravel the meaning behind some of the actions (or lack thereof) of those around me. Was inaction due to laziness or a lack of understanding? Were we stripped from our natural God-given resources and thus caused my family, my community to be in a perpetual state of fear? Did this fear strip us away from our natural longing of mutual connection and wholeness? And what does this connection and wholeness mean in the practical, mundane world which arguably seems devoid of the recognition of the wholeness of the Divine?

Contrary to popular practice, I am not here to blame anyone for anything. What I seek is a space of understanding. You see, I have been tired and angry for the past few months. Truly angry, a silent bitterness collecting at the base of my psyche. As I drive through the streets of one of the most expensive cities in the world, biting at my fingertips as bikes rush headlong before cars into incoming traffic, rushing to go to a place that promise to fulfill their needs only to be left aching and wanton. This I know as I’d once rushed headlong into the city with the same desires and aspirations – a dream to make more money and to reinvent myself as anyone I’d wished to be. Only now the only one I wish to be is no one else but me.

It is a truly odd time in humanity, where greed is the order of day. Many people are struck with disgust at witnessing the atrocities of the world: walking outside and seeing young men and women at the corner of busy streets clamoring for resources, food, shelter, or simple affection. While we, reluctant or perhaps too guilty and poor to reach into our own pockets, look on with gazes of disgust and heartbreak at the world around us, at the unfairness and chaos that ensues on this beautiful planet. Oh, the suffering that we cause one another. It would be remiss for me not to mention that in these odd times witnessing reality is heartbreaking, nevertheless overwhelming. Those considered fools are the only ones who walk the earth with a feet as light as a feather, flowing to and fro among the chaos. Is it that they do not witness the distress that tugs at our heart strings or perhaps they feel disconnected from it, unable to witness another being as their own selves? Or are they the most wise of us all; welcoming and processing each emotion deeply as it arises, willing to venture into the depths of the unconscious human shadow. Witnessing then embracing the faces of destruction.

And isn’t it scary to recognize that those faces look like your own? The hands that clamor for more wealth, the nose that wrinkles in the stench of poverty, the eyes that avert their gaze from witnessing injustice. Isn’t it heartbreaking to know that each of these faces; the eyes, the nose, the hands, the arms, the legs, the heart—they each look like our own. And yet somehow, with the twisting of the ego, the whispers that lead them to disconnection, what they find in another steady heartbeat is a pulse that does not match the rhythm of the universe. In this disconnection, you might also find the same seat of suffering and destruction that causes so many of us to be lost.

I’ve been asking myself, “what to do in times like this”? My solace has been teetering between indignant anger, hopelessness, detachment and hopeful prayer. A huge part of me recognizes that there is not much that can be done to undo the mess that we have created of the world. The mess that we have created of each other. Our deeds are written and the actions that our hands have sent forth are in the process of materializing over and over and over as we pick of the fruits that our seeds have sown. It is only now when we find that our crops are rotten and close to dying do we in exasperation call on the name of the One who created the seed in the first place. Begging for the divine to restore some sense of order in this fractured reality.

A deepening prayer on my tongue is for the strength and resilience to carry on. To take time away from my mind in the hopes that it does not continue to attack me. To detach even as it attempts to console me. When you are truly stemmed in the midst of chaos, your mind can be so blinding that sometimes it is the most helpful to take a step back and breathe. To connect to a deepening Essence so much larger than yourself, that when you arrive at its doorstep and perch yourself on its living room floor, all that you hear is insurmountable silence and a deep space of rest. And oh, do we deserve rest.

There is not much that I can offer in terms of answers. I would like to say that there should be some union formed; politicians held accountable; or even individuals to point to as the seat of blame. But in truth, I find no one to hold in the hostage in the hot seat. All that I have been dreaming of is the ability to appreciate beauty; to plant flowers and seeds of vegetables and fruits, to love earnestly and forgive; to release myself of myself and help another. It is a gift to try to love others just as much as I love myself and to find an even greater reservoir of love for God. A deep reverence that allows us release shame and judgement and to show up for the people that we love. To help when and where we can and to let go of the rest. There is much about the world we are unsure about, much that we hope we will have time to be able to reconcile and in many ways, a silent wish to leave something better than what we have been gifted with in our own time. This is the dream of many who have come before us in the hopes that we might be stronger, smarter, and better suited for tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder, even if all material has begun to crumble—houses unable to be purchased, wages unable to fly us on four times a year vacations or buy us the newest game set with debt up to our necks—might we still find peace? Is there a place where material wealth is not the bane of our existence? Where just enough is good enough for us to live earnestly and build community? I wonder what are the things that truly matter for building stability for myself and my family? And does it mean that I need to be in a space where I am considered rich and wealthy?

It is interesting times that we walk in and many of us are in the seat of suffering. With fear clouding much of our judgement, we walk the path of detriment believing that if we lose our stable income, homes, positions that we truly lose all that matters. It’s a crime to be robbed of the natural right toward affordable housing, food, and clothing. But perhaps, it is even more of a crime to be robbed of the natural recognition that our wholeness depends not on what the material world can afford us, but the jewels that our hearts bring into the world inside and around us.

And I pray that this is enough.

The Mirage of Pleasure

We are a society that is infiltrated with greed.

The demon of greed lingers in each one of us, a small voice that tells us “we need more”.

“No, I cannot stand by and simply let the breeze run through my hair, I need to fight against it”

“What? I cannot just enjoy the computer that I’ve had for 10 years. No, I need a new one”

“Why would I wear the same clothes I’ve worn over the past 2 years? Something newer would fit my style!”

We live in perpetual desire that leads to greed.

I reflect on the rumination of wanton and greed as I think of the current state of affairs in the world. I reflect on the reality that we are living on a floating planet, somehow charging each other illusionary currency to determine our livelihood and wellbeing. This currency gives us passage into our experience; who you will know, where you will be, what your health will look like. All in the space where everything on earth is arguably free.

All because of possession. And greed.

There is a certain amount of grief that arise in moments like this. A grief that we perhaps have made a much more construed existence than it need be. Grief, at the difficulty it is for each of us to be free. Grief, that even as I write this, I understand that each of us are simply trying to eat. Grief, that we have not allowed ourselves the real benefit and wholeness of living spiritually.

Grief so deep that I speak to my clients in the tongue of grief. Grief so deep that many “mental health” issues derive from this greed. Grief that I am a complicit participant in the world of desire, consideration and greed.

Grief. I feel it all over me. Recently, I’ve been debating on how I can go back to school and get my PhD and afford my cost of living. How can I provide people help and also not be rightfully indignant at the very system that claims to support me. How can I allow the gifts of my ancestors to slip my mouth and only be expressed when I am validated from the “yes” of the cursed man. The same man, who’s very breath is tainted with the sour stench of greed.

I am…in but so many words a kaleidoscope of emotion. Frustrating coats the shoulders that begin to ware in the face of inhume acts. To feel trapped in a system that is based on the selfish needs of the “me” instead of embodying the spiritual principality of “we”. To provide service to a people’s whom “mental illness” are derived from the very same exhaustion. And grief. To understand that many are ill because their spirit cannot hold them to the system that has betrayed them. And dampened the soul that God has given them — how could I look a reflect of myself and feel anything but grief?

And yet…I still hold the most silent prayer in a well so deep, I thought God Himself could not find it…A prayer that He will somehow deliver us and set each one of us free.

But we have to embody this freedom first between you and me. God, give us free.

Ameen.

The Tides of Destruction

I’ve been in a space of deep-seated anger.

Deep-seated anger—you know, the type of anger that makes you feel restless. When you hear something that feels so contrary to your nature, you feel the slightest bit of resistance in your body and suddenly, the need to lash out! To yell, to scream “SEE ME! HEAR ME! Feel me”

Yeah, that type of anger.

I think we each feel it. It’s been such a wild two years hasn’t it? All the hopes and dreams of what we built on the fragility of “security” wasted away as a virus came in and snatch the rug from underneath our feet. Reminding us that safety and security was never quite that safe. Oh but we knew this. We knew it. Don’t lie—haven’t there been a many of times that you walked outside to take a stroll around the block and a young man smiled in your face, his eye lingering a bit longer than you’d like? And you found yourself confused, wondering “do I have something on my face?”

You felt it—in times were you were prompted to speak aloud in front of a group of people and not only to speak aloud but to speak CLEARLY. Efficiently. Effectively. To move people with a deep sense of conviction and admiration. And safety was stripped away just as quickly as you were asked to speak, wondering “what would they think about me?”

Living in the illusion of safety has helped us only in as so far as we are able to see it’s illusion. To understand that safety means to truly feel that you have a right to be here. Deep in your bones, to feel it vibrate in your soul, “I have a right to be here. To exist”. But a good majority of us do not feel this.

How could we? Our history is convoluted with so much pain and suffering, the stripping of our very humanity and oh, the tales and stories of slavery! A sure disease that makes us feel so unworthy.

Yeah, this anger is layered deep.

I’ve been frustrated. How have we sold ourselves a tale of lies? Lies that have made us so unseemingly, we have forgotten that to walk on this earth is not a privilege but a birth right. That to exist is to play out Gods plan perfectly and to create is to truly be free. I’ve been angry.

And so many will say—“a woman?? Angry? A black woman at that, not a foreign sight—it’s to be expected! They walk the earth so bitterly, of course you would find the likes of her angry.”

But you see…my anger is holy. From the same womb that created this existence, I gaze into your face and witness bliss. The sweet symphony of all of humanity, a gift that has been graced to touch the Holy Mother, as feet kiss the ground that created our flesh. As spirit sanctified our breath.

So you see, hell yeah, I’ve been angry. We are so much more that we have become to be if only we would allow ourself to ascend gracefully. To remind each other that money, prestige, the likes of intellect and the mind can hardly superseded the stirrings of the heart and spirit that created all that be.

I hope our anger allows us to wash to the shore of God’s feet and infinite awakening gently.

I pray that our anger allows us all to be free.

Neu Religion

Please, don’t you lay waiting for me.

Please God, don’t you lie waiting for me.

When you first heard words uttered from the deepest place of my being, did you believe “wow, she is so free”? Did you hear eons of pain dripping free of the tightly coiled rope around my wrist and whisper, “God, she is a free as I hope to be”?

Who me? Not this young woman, afraid to walk outside naked—lo and behold my scars and stretch marks for all to see. Not this beautiful lady, peering deeply from the corner or her eyes, hypervigilant to any movement making sure she can count each moment, never to be caught lacking in her “freedom”. Walking the earth with a certain amount of insecurity—who knows what tomorrow will bring her wanton arms? But she waits with a smile on her face hiding the unrelenting anxiety.

And you say this here woman…is free?

No, no, you see, she recalls the pains of her ancestors. One could hardly leave the house without fearing for their safety; turn around the wrong corner and she might hear a shot ricochet between tussling leaves. Leaving her brown bosom wet with regret and solemn defeat, as its remnants trickle down to her knee’s—Lord the times where living meant to be in a constant state of anxiety.

You see, I’ve realized that the world isn’t always safe. I won’t always have the answers to all of the questions, even the things my parents shared with me being questioned under a microscopic lens until it begins to lose its form again. I wonder, how many lies were we sold as truths—as a young girl, believing that my parents had the key to insurmountable wonderful living. Now realizing that they only had one key in a sea of infinity. Whew! And how is one to know which one to choose? We cant say that one is mightier than the other, that one path is more true in might or size, this way makes the most sense, is the most pleasing to a God that is multidimensional. If only existence was that simple. It makes some of us feel insecure.

And why a sense of insecurity—it means that my life completely and totally depends on ME! A new feeling, some may meet with ecstasy – “ah! I get to live completely and totally for me!” But what if the “me” to get along with simply isn’t so easy? What if the “me” is outstandingly beautiful and also stemming with insecurity? What if the “me” writes so poetically but often times loses her will to speak? What if the “me” loved to be a healer, but also feels that “healing” is never-ending, perhaps the reality is that we may not find out way back to eternity. Not as we were but something completely different, something bitten by the sea of suffering unrelenting.

It seems to me, that perfection is an illusion created out of a deep feeling of apathy. Needing something to make sense, we whisper “lets resign to obtain the unattainable”, hoping for destruction or complete mastery. Perfection as an illusion because it prevents us from ever beginning anything; perfection as an insatiable need because it means that nothing is ever quite as worthy; perfection as a deep aching because it means that I don’t even get to see me for me; perfection created for a deep feeling of suffering.

Tension rolling through my fingers until I can write no more, there is tension rolling over the shoulders that one nurtured me, tension rolling through my sore throat as I swallow skin deep, tension as I admit that some days it is hard to be me. Tension as I hold space for these tears to roll down my cheeks. Tension.

So if you look at me and say “God, she is just so deep, so free”, don’t mistake my eloquence for mastery. In a sea of humans who are so beautiful to me, I am just as imperfect and confused and hopeful and needy and wanting as any other person could be.

This is the reality of the deepest layer of me.

I remember you

the lines of your face, deeply groomed grassy heaven

My tears furled in the crevice of dark tresses

I remember you

Dark, tall and handsome

An enigma

Not seeking to be chased but enjoying

The thrill of desire

I remember you

We lay, sprawled between silk lies

A tangle of webs caught between several truths

Things we’d hoped our hearts would hide

But see…I remember you

A wistful tale of love unrequited

Or perhaps too immature to ignite this fire

So important to my own song—

I suppose you’d helped me find my own

Touching traces of insecurity

So that I would unveil the real me

Not so pretty or so peaceful, no:

Painfully human, fleeing ease and flow

I recall—

Much laughter in the height of the morning

3am, hearts soaring

Recalling dreams of tomorrow

Though it’s actions turned sour

A hidden place inside of me

Stories never ventured, still unseen

You see…I remember you

The thrills of diving to the deepest end

Pulling me back to my waters ocean

Liquid desire tracing back to the Source

A sure testament of love as a compelling, mystique force

I recall, infinite stories of who we’d wish to be

Becoming all that God meant for me

Perhaps trading in another,

to reignite my own energy

Yes…you gave me a wonderful gift

The gift of remembering me

I remember me.

———

I guess love is never truly lost

Never taken or held behind

A finite fire smothered on a summers night

Illuminating the path to witness the stars shine

Gazing above, the heavens hanging on the edge of time

Reminding that it’s presence has always been alive

Time has taught me time and time again

Human love is only for the purpose of true remembrance

———

I saw God’s face

He smiled softly

Drove me deeper into the cold waters that met me

Cleansed grime and smut from clouded soul

Embracing insecurities and wounds of old

Salt stitching each layer of raw skin

Purging the cloud of sin from within

Loss and doubt that arose in a lack of faith

I’m happy that our imperfect love led me back to God’s face

Thank you

For leaving this memory of you.